INCIPIENT ➵ EDMUND PEVENSIE

30 | Loss Cripples Like Poison

30 | LOSS CRIPPLES LIKE POISON

The king wakes to sore muscles and a languid mind.

    He feels a tickle of dribbling blood on the skin of the back of his palm. For a moment, he isn't bothered at all. One of those stupid wounds from Miraz's men again, he thinks, fatigued to such a point that he can't bring himself to even open his eyes. He's familiarised himself to such sensations more than ever over these few days, anyway.

    "Would you look at that drenched dressing!" an individual comments with artificial gaiety. The icky feeling of exfoliating a exsiccated bandage soon attacks the skin on his head.

    He shifts a little in his confusion - what kind of a foe would care enough to dress his enemy's wounds? - sparking a sudden withdrawal of the individual's hands from his.

    "Your Majesty!" squeals the voice, along with many gasps of his name.

    And he could put a face to every single one of them.

    It is only then does a catch in his mind click - he is in no dungeon cell, but has been rescued by the girl who survived a twenty story drop and her supposedly deceased brother.

    Through now half-hooded lids, the king scans the scene, diffused clouds of apricot light blurring the images before him.

    There they were, the owners of the voices: his family, and good old Trufflehunter, the black and white fur ringing his paws tinted maroon by the bandage he holds.

    "Ed?" Peter speaks, "Can you hear us?"

    "I guess- not?" he mutters, the sound hurting his parched throat. His brother's eyes go wide, a mix of alarm and trepidation. What have I done? Peter would say. He can already picture him hissing that line under his breath. 

    Susan steps into frame, lips pressed together in annoyance, "He answered the question you posed with your voice, Pete. Did you expect anything less than a joke from the Just, royal brother?"

    A grin plays on Edmund's lips in an instant.

    "Well, what can I say? Welcome back," the Gentle nudges his shoulder, sparking a slight grimace, "We- We hoped to liberate you from their clutches - really, we did - yet we couldn't be certain if your life was taken or- So we had a hell of three days praying you hadn't perished and that Telmarines wouldn't arrive at our door, especially not when our champion swordsman isn't in."

    Peter interjects, "And we have too few men to take a bet on anything, to trespass those walls once more. That'll literally drive every single one of them who made it out the first time back to their demise. Plus, I'd say it indubitably. You'd rather dedicate your life than your people's."

    'Indubitably' he says, but evidently searching for a validation. His eyes find Edmund's, and the Just King perceives the puffiness round his eyes, round all their eyes, to be specific. But he knows the distinctive pink in one's eyes when one's just shed a few tears moments ago when he sees it.